Mix Tapes
by emi7890
Summary: A MisDen shipping fic. Homecoming AU. enough said.


**_disclaimer: Author does not own Superjail! and its Characters, the story is made by her._**

_MisDen OTP w/ highschool homecoming AU._

* * *

He knew she loved music.

The lights flickered in the gym. The smell of rust coming from the decomposing risers had mixed with the stench of punch that reminded him of Senior Prom and Bad days of Gym Class with the Coach. He gripped the wrapped paper box he held so dearly.

She was just sitting across the room, eyes were all on her. She looked lovely. The wildflowers on her hair and faded make-up made her look as young as she was years ago. Her voice chimed against the Music. No one wouldn't resist her voice. She was the School's Prom Queen. The dame. The star of the show. He knew it.

She had always been lovely. Many of the men stared at her longingly, more even now. It angered him to no end. He wanted to kill all of them. Strangle the necks of each hungry face who wanted her only as a trophy, and not as a person.

But she was never his.

She had always been with the other man. The Stingray, everyone calls him. The head jock of the Varsity team who only made her life miserable. They've been together ever since they were Freshmen, and only God knew why she stayed with him. Sting didn't deserve her, and he knows that She deserves better.

He could've stepped forward, just like all those years before. But like a rat caught in a trap, he couldn't. He wouldn't. He won't even stand the chance to be with her in the first place. He had always been the lanky, awkward, braces wearing boy with duck-taped rimmed glasses who gets stuffed in lockers a lot ever since grade school. How could a Swan fall in Love with a Goose?

He had only admired her from afar. He would listen to her lovely voice. Oh that voice! If only he could hear it again. It was her deepest secret. She could sing. She never sang to anyone, and he's a thief to listen to the timbre of her voice. The soft harmonious voice of an angel. He would sneak after school to the darkest halls that lead to the Music Hall-a place that no one goes to-and sings to her hearts content. Sometimes it's low and cold, sometimes high and lively, but either way, her voice can't be compared to anyone. She was a daughter of Apollo, A mockingbird, who never hurts anyone.

He clutched his chest and shut his eyes tight. The afternoon sunlight that lit the Music Hall never compared her beauty, nor the memories of when they were young. In the floor lay tons of people with stupid, frilly dresses and overrated Tuxedos. Homecoming only happens once every 5 years, And every 5 years he waited her to come. It was only this year did she came. _It's been 10 fucking years, grow some fucking balls dickhead. _He said it to himself.

He stepped once, and took a deep breath. The stench of liquor had always made him woozy. Let alone drink it. He was never allowed, but now that he was a full grown man, he learned why he wasn't allowed to drink such things. He hit an old schoolmate who got into his way, congratulating him on being one of the head Wardens of the state. He had a low profile, he admitted, but seeing that he, somehow, managed to get someone's attention, irked him. What if she learned about who he was now? Or was she just like the rest: ignorant?

He trudged on, the crowd was thick, meaning that he was already getting closer. The smell of MintyPop! lipbalm and old cologne had greeted him. They all smelled old, and they're prodding their way into her, just like how he is doing now.

She saw him a few people away where she was sitting, and she called him immediately. This stunned him, and the rest, but it warmed him to no end. She wrapped her hands delicately on his, her brown eyes greeting him warm hellos. His green orbs became misty, it was his first time to actually talk to her! And she started it! Several people backed away, and questioned the woman's morale as to why she would want to talk to him.

She made him sit down, and she bombarded him with questions. He coughed once, but nodded or shook his head in every reply. . Little by little, the people retreated to the dance floor, thinking that, for once, The Dame needed her alone time at the moment, and that she was in her most comfortable state.

They were already alone at the table. It was his chance. He has the small box tucked inside his coat pocket. He could just give it to her already. But it wasn't good of a mood to give it. Not yet. It was his turn to talk, and there's no turning back now.

"...So, uh, Are you doing something at the moment?" the words seemed to strangle themselves as they escaped from his mouth. She was drinking from her glass as she listened.

"Nothing really. I'm enjoying my days at home." She hummed. "You've gotten healthier since the last time I saw you. You've been putting on weight Warden?"

"Warden?"

"That's what everyone's been calling you ever since you got here. You made a name for yourself, I don't have to know the real one, though I've seen your glasses before." She smiled curtly, as she drank another glass. She leaned in on him. "I just want someone to look out for me, you see?" She pointed at the far end of the room. "I need company. From him." She was referring to Stingray, calling other younger alumnae to go hang out with him. He could see the worry in her face.

"I understand." he stated. "It'd be an honor." He would have rephrased it: "_It'd be and honor, and I'll protect you til death."_

"Oh, don't do that to me, Sir." She chimed. "It should be _my_ honor. Can I just call you Warden instead?" she asked.

"Of course." he replied.

Warden believed that he was the luckiest man alive. To be with the woman he loves so dearly. He didn't care if he would die tomorrow. The bliss of talking to her made him whole. The sight of her swaying to the tune of each song made him as giddy as a young school girl inside, if he hadn't controlled himself.

"...What are you drinking by the way?" he asked pointing the tall champagne glass that she's been holding onto that felt like forever.

"Oh, this funny thing? Just some booze." She drank another glass. "Don't worry, boy. I don't get that drunk." she offered her her glass. "You wan'sa?"

The last sentence felt slurred to him. "No thank you, I don't drink."

She laughed heartily. "Oh Warden, loosen up!" She hiccuped once. "I don't thi-hic-k that drinking once-hic is bad at all!" Her voice rang cheerfully.

"Ah, but-"

"...Na-ah-ah. Drink well Deputy! Celebrate with me."

* * *

He knew this was a bad idea.

She was in the bathroom. For some unspoken miracle they managed to get out of the Homecoming undetected. They drove to the nearest motel. The memory of her hair flowing wildly with the wind captivated him like a mouse in a trap. Her lips were dry, though he took care of it after they pulled out from the street. It had been a long time since he kissed a girl, and all the girls he had kissed he wished that it was her. But he was kissing her in flesh and blood; he was a lucky man indeed.

He was lying on the bed when she came out of the shower. Her hair dripping on the blue carpet floor. If he were drunk enough he would've thought it were the sea, and he would save her immediately, but he knew it wasn't, but if given the chance he would, and he could.

She thought he was asleep, and she sat next to him, the glass beads that were fallig from the tips of her hair fell on his collar and he turned to see her. "Sorry." She looked away. Her skin was pale, unlike his now. Callused and starting to lose its vibrant glow.

"It's alright." he replied.

She was still drunk, he could see, for she rested herself next to him, her face resting on the crook of his neck. She could feel her breathe. It wasn't a dream. He closed his eyes.

There was a long silence between them. The only noise he could hear were the humming of her breathing and his, constantly chasing each other. She was dazed, her eyes glossy, as if the moist in her eyes were starting to freeze. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"I'm ugly." she spoke.

He looked at her. "You're not."

She gave him a small smile, then shook her head. "I am. I always had, Warden." She gave him a quick glance, then looked away. "I'm not pretty."

"That's a lie." He sat up to look at her, her brown eyes were distant, weary. Tired.

She frowned. "You're just like the rest" She turned away from him. "Thinking I'm Lucky. I'm not, you know." She curled into a ball. "I hate him. Sting. He always brought women in the flat. Fucking them endlessly. I'm just his High School Trophy." She sniffled. "...and people say that we're a happy couple."

He knew he frowned when he heard her snicker.

"For God may know you must hate me too." her voice was hoarse, as she tried to not to let a tear drop from her eye. She placed her head on his shoulders as she presented herself in front of him. "Like those girls and men in that party. They've been watching me. Watching_ me_. It's sick." her gripped tightened as she whispered. The white robe looked like crumpled paper, just like her trust. "...And they're doing nothing about it. My _friends... _they're not even my friends. Just Pretty faces getting ready to fuck my boyfriend once I leave him. But I couldn't. I wouldn't..." Warden was silent as she spoke. "...Do you think of the same thing?" she said at last, staring at his face.

"No." That's all he said.

"You really like that word don't you?" she looked away to stare at a lampshade.

"No-Well, I mean..." He trailed off. "You're beautiful."

"Warden. You wouldn't like a whore."

"But you're not, at least not to me."

"Then you _are_ just like the rest."

There was silence.

"I don't mean it like that." he said flatly.

He pulled her into him. Her face felt warm, meaning she understood. He could feel his shirt dampen. He ran his fingers through her hair as she continued. He cooed, her stifles panged his heart. He didn't want to see her like this.

She was Fine China, just like her soul. Delicate. White. Cracked.

He pulled away to see her face. It was peppered with pink across her cheeks. He kissed her gently as they both lay down.

The robe found its way to her shoulders, and he grazed his lips on the exposed skin. She gasped slightly, and he looked up at her, their eyes meeting one another. Green grass have found their way to its home.

Warden intertwined his hands into hers. They were two puzzle pieces from different boxes but fitted together all the same. She beamed at him, her eyes still glossy, but had a tint of contentment. She made him continue. He continued with his quest, lips touching new areas. He propped themselves into a more comfortable position, and she sighed.

"Is it alright?" He tugged the robe's knot.

"It's fine."

He slowly took off her robe, making her bare for his eyes to see.

She was skinny, he could see her ribs and if he touched it he was afraid it might shatter inside her body, but despite of this, he still found her beautiful.

"You're lovely." he replied as he kissed her collarbone. She said nothing. He held her close. She noticed his touches were different from the other. They were soft. Almost safe.

"I'll always be here." He whispered. "If you don't believe me." He looked up and saw her looking down at him. She looked sad now, and even afraid, as if he would would leave her The moment he said it. "I promise." He saw a tear trickle down her cheek, and he tenderly rubbed it away with his thumb. She held his hands, afraid that it might turn into sand once she lets go.

He kissed her again passionately. He wanted to make her feel loved. He could not believe that a being as lovely as her would be given sorrow, though he had a firm belief that there always was a reason to everything to everyone, he could not fathom the thought of her being distressed.

She started to touch him too. Her hands fumbled as she unbuttoned his shirt. She pulled away from embarrassment, but he still kissed her, tellking her that it's alright. For a long while, Warden saw her smile. Her hands went up to touch his face as she kissed back.

The two found their way into the sheets, for once they felt alive, safe within each others arms. He made love to her in the same places, but touched her differently, in places that she couldn't think would've been touched. She never felt more content with anyone, and it was from him. Though she felt a little roughness here or there, he was gentle. He never looked away from her, and only shut his eyes whenever he was allowed to. He moved into her carefully, she didn't feel any much pain, but she knew it was tight.

In his part, he didn't want to break her into pieces. Warden wanted to glue her altogether, and fix the broken hinges and fill in the holes her other lover had done. He wanted to wipe the stars from her eyes and hang it on the ceiling. He needed her to know that she was wanted, needed, by him. And when he came into her, he didn't know what to expect the next day. If he was just going to be a man who was lucky to sleep with her or something else. Something more.

Though he never did let her go, during and after.

* * *

He knew it was already afternoon.

The sun shone behind the blinds. She was still there, sleeping peacefully next to him. Last night's happenings made him red. He couldn't believe that he did _it_ to _her. _He felt disgusted. and embarrassed.

He tried sat up. His head throbbed, but he can still think clearly. He watched her sleep. Her aftermath glowed made him feel uncomfortable in his pants. She was already beautiful awake, she was more beautiful asleep.

Her eyes fluttered open. She yawned and said "Good Morning". He gave her a sheepish smile. She grinned and stretched, her full body exposed. He looked away.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "You've never seen a naked girl in broad daylight?"

He stammered. "N-no. It's j-just." He trailed off. His head was starting to pound, he felt like he was going to barf any moment. But it all stopped when he felt her hands around his waist. They were warm, and her breath was close to his neck. She whispered something he could not hear, and grazed her lips on his skin. Even if he did not hear it. He understood. She loved him and he loved her. He whispered and turned around to kiss her fingers delicately. They were soft.

And she laughed heartily. They tumbled on top of each other as she kissed him again. He was clumsy, she learned, and that was alright. If it weren't for him she wouldn't have been here in the first place. For the first time in her life, she was content, and he, happy.

She smiled at him and tussled his hair and kissed him gleefully. Warden gave her his love with as much enthusiasm.

And the Mix tape was still wrapped in the paper, all tucked neatly in his's coat pocket.


End file.
